


Some Things Can Never Be Forgotten

by TheSnailQueen



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:24:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSnailQueen/pseuds/TheSnailQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More often than not the gentlehobbit could be found out by the tree, chatting to it idly or telling it stories of his journey and the brave and noble dwarves who’d made the adventure so special. </p><p>[In which Bilbo finds that Bag End no longer feels like home without his dwarves accompanying him] </p><p>[Depending on how this goes there could be more to this plot but we shall see]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things Can Never Be Forgotten

It had taken Bilbo a long time to settle back into Bag End. Oh he’d known it would. Even as he journeyed back to his once beloved home he’d known that he would now find it lacking. There were no familiar mumbles or joyous ruckus from rowdy dwarves reminiscing with each other about their past victories and adventures, or simply enjoying the food provided them.

His once cosy and homely little hobbit hole; even filled once more with his rightful belongings after the auction fiasco had been cleared up, left something to be desired and it didn’t take the hobbit long to realise what was missing. The house now lacked all the sense of home it had once had. His sense of comfort, of safety and love was back with the Dwarves in Erabor, in part at least. He knew a good portion of it had died with Thorin, Fili and Kili. They had become his family. His unconventional, impossible dwarves the lot of them. And he had gained something worth losing this old life for in a heartbeat, only to lose it just as rapidly.

It was for this reason and the months of trying to settle for somewhere, something that is not home for him any longer, that he had almost forgotten the acorn. He may have if it hadn’t made its presence known to him one evening when he was sorting through the trunk containing all of the things he had collected on his travels. When he had pulled out his old coat, the one he had worn on the last leg of the journey and the little acorn rolled out of the pocket and into Bilbo’s lap like it had very deliberately wanted to be found.

It had almost made him laugh, almost like a sign that he still hadn’t done what he’d told Thorin he would, what his king had insisted he do even as he lay there dying in the ice and snow. The flash of memory had Bilbo’s eyes stinging and a lump forming in his throat even as he picked the little seed up carefully, examining it with a critical eye for any damage that may have been sustained.

Finding none he decided it was about time he keep his promise, and despite it being late evening he had grabbed his trowel and dibber and planted the acorn at the heart of his garden, sending up a prayer to Yavanna that the tree would grow up well before making his way back inside to prepare for what tomorrow held.

For the rest of his time on the mortal plain Bilbo would never know what made the tree grow so fast and with such vigour. Whether it had been his prayer to the Earth Mother, or the hope and joy and love he poured into the little sapling would always be a mystery. But what he did know is that when it should have taken many years for the tree to reach maturity, his oak was already producing young seeds of its own before it reached its tenth year, and was so tall and lush that it provided shade for a good majority of the garden.

More often than not the gentlehobbit could be found out by the tree, chatting to it idly or telling it stories of his journey and the brave and noble dwarves who’d made the adventure so special as he got on with whatever daily chore he’d brought out to occupy himself with; although this was mostly to keep his hands from shaking as he thought of his friends, both living and lost.

It was on one of these occasions that he found that if he let himself doze, somewhere between the realms and waking and sleep, that he could see them again.

It was faint at first, a wash of comfort and familiarity that made Bilbo’s breath catch in his throat, shaking him back to the present. But it intrigued him, and yes there was a blind hope behind it because he knew that feeling, that presence and he wanted so desperately to feel it again. So he started to practice, slowly at first until he could not only feel, but see the dwarves that held his heart, even now that they were long gone. The first time they had manifested he had been unable to hold it for long, the tears in his eyes making everything too blurry and he’d had to go in search of a handkerchief, but the times that followed became as natural to him as breathing.

He knew it was unhealthy, spending so much of his time in this half world, there were times he forgot that it wasn’t real and when he was brought back to reality the ache in his chest was renewed, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Fili and Kili were just as he remembered them, all laughter and charm before Fili ruffled his younger brothers hair one too many times and Kili tackled him into the grass and initiated a scrap full of joyful laughter and teasing insults. And then there was Thorin.

The older dwarf had not spoken as of yet, perhaps because Bilbo could not bring himself to remember his voice for fear of breaking down, but he most always took up residence beside the hobbit, leaning against him and the tree at their backs and watching his nephews mess with each other. Regardless of what he tried to rationalise to himself, that this wasn’t real and was just a product of his loneliness and vivid imagination, the warm weight against his right side, the side Thorin was pressed against, felt very real.

There were often times that he would lose track of time, spending hours and hours out in the garden with nothing but the spirits of his friends for company and on those days it would take Thorin giving him a gentle nudge and a soft murmur that could barely be made out until Kili would drop down in the grass in front of them, wide grin in place and reach out to press a finger to Bilbo’s nose “Uncle says you’re forgetting to eat again Bilbo. Better go in and find something before you’re too hungry to stand. You’ve already missed second breakfast, elevenses and lunch” the teasing in his voice would often drive Bilbo to teary laughter, breaking him from the day dream and alerting him to the fact that he was, indeed very hungry and the sun was hanging low in the sky.

As time went on Bilbo learnt to balance his two worlds, his nephew falling into his care at such a tender young age was a big factor in stabilising him and it didn’t hurt that the little hobbit was absolutely fascinated with Bilbo’s wild tales of his adventures with the dwarves.

So as Frodo grew, so did Bilbo and he slowly learned that he had a reason to really live again; and that made his days spent by the oak fewer and far between, but all the more special for it.


End file.
